Every year in March or April my farmer fellow frost-seeds our pastures and hayfields. He uses a hand-held broadcast seeder, spreading red and white clover over the 7 and 5 and 3 acre sections.
Last year, after a long campaign with the budget committee, my fellow bought a chain harrow to use in the fields. He was eager to see if it would break up the thatch and spread the piles of horse manure, which would help the clover germinate. This meant harnessing the horses and harrowing the fields, which is a good way to get the horses muscled up for heavier garden work.
It also meant that I stepped up to the broadcast seeder, in the interest of having this early spring project actually be accomplished in the early spring.
How hard can it be to walk around circles in a field cranking the seeder? I thought. Well, it isn't that hard, but it sure takes a while. Plus it was somewhat complicated by our farm pooch.
We have seen some nice signs of maturing in our just-turned-two pooch, but he's not all the way there yet. On our first day of frost-seeding, the pooch was glad to join us in the field. He was even gladder to harass the horses by running in front of them and barking.
The horses do not like this; they buck and kick. Considering they were already feeling their oats from a winter's worth of leisure, I got worried.
Three times I called the pooch to me. He came, but he didn't stay. Those horses were just too much fun. The fourth time I attached the dog's mid-length leash – twelve feet of clothesline – to his harness on one end and to me on the other end.
First I tied the leash around my wrist, which interfered with my seeder. Then I tied the leash around my waist, where it kept loosening up. Finally I tied the leash to my belt loop, and that worked. By then the pooch had figured out he was spending the morning having fun with me with me and not with the horses.
It may have been the most boring walk the dog has ever had. There was no barking at horses, no stopping for interesting smells, no side jaunts to explore the woods. It was just me and him around and around and around. After two hours, we were both panting.
But we had half the field seeded and harrowed, and my fellow was jubilant about how well the harrow worked, especially after he tied two old tires on to add weight.
Back at the barn, I released the pooch to help unharness the horses. “Did you see the dog?” I asked my fellow.
“Yes, why?” he answered.
“Did you really look at him? We're going to have to shake him down!”
My fellow called the pooch. “Wow!” he said. “Our black dog is turning white!”
“I've already rubbed him all over twice, if you can believe that,” I said.
“You're going to grow a whole field of clover, pooch!” My fellow laughed and rubbed the dog some more. Tiny white seeds flew out of his thick curly coat.
The next morning we all started out again: my fellow, the horses, and the harrow; me, the seeder, and the pooch. “You've got three chances,” I said to my furry friend.
He looked askance at me. I don't need three chances, he seemed to say. I'm not the least interested in those horses. I am a very mature dog.
The very mature dog spent the morning with us, sniffing interesting places, taking side jaunts to the woods, and lying down in the middle of the field to observe the action. Not once did he bark or run at the horses.
“My,” I said in passing. “What a good dog! What a mature dog!”
He wagged his seed-free tail. He didn't even bother to get up, so mature was he.
Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, April 29 - May 5, 2026